Burning Ambitions
by tAcOfAiL13
Summary: The Ishbalan war is taking it's toll on Roy's body and mind. All the innocent people killed and the many more that are to come; they haunt his life and make him doubt who he is as a soldier of Amestris and as a human being.


**Here's another story. I'm so surprised I managed to actually write more then that first Hetalia fanfiction. I really thought it would be the only one for a while, but I guess once I write one my mind can't rest! I'm trying to work on another fic for Hetalia that could be considered a crossover between Hetalia and FullMetal Alchemist, but I'm stuck right now so I decided this was going to be published first. This is based off the original series, because I'm watching that one at the moment. ^^ I think this fic is pretty good.. Sorta, but that's up to you all, so comment please and tell me how I did :)**

** Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist or Roy Mustang and his angsty memories. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa :D At least that's what Yahoo says XD**

**Burning Ambitions**

Fire erupted at the snap of slim, gloved fingers.  
>Screams. Burning flesh. Smoke.<br>Then nothing was moving, nothing stirred as a man in military uniform stood still, eyes looking at the embers of burning bodies. Eyes as black as coal but more dull than an old kitchen knife, used past it's due date but still managing to make it into selfish hands ready to exhaust it until they got what they wanted from the plate set before them. Roy Mustang lingered around the crumbling building and it's broken furniture, everything charred or smashed beyond recognition. He stumbled through the wreckage with numb feet and glazed eyes, not really seeing anything yet taking in all of the details of this destroyed house, as if he could find comfort and refuge from what he'd been doing for years in the ruined memories of an Ishbalan family. Splintered wood lay strewn across the old floor, children's toys crushed under large, white bricks, the wood holding them together shattered and cracked. In a corner that could've been a kitchen hours ago was now nothing but scattered silverware and broken chairs. Heart thumping in a ragged, clumsy rhythm and breath coming in stifled gasps, Roy bent and sat on a large block of stone, slumping forward as he covered his face with his hands. He rubbed fiercely at his tired eyes, trying to relieve his sleep deprived mind of anything besides the mission he was on.  
>He had orders to fulfill, he couldn't be doubting himself so far along, so far into this damned war that there was no turning back from this point forward. They were close to winning this senseless battle, and then they could go home; they'd be able to see family and friends again, people they hadn't talked with in months or years. The quicker the job was done, the sooner Roy could get away from the screams, the blood, the unnatural smell of human flesh burning from a simple snap of his fingers. He'd killed innocent people, taken their lives, their home, their children because of some stupid order. A nonsensical order to kill, no <em>massacre<em>, the Ishbalan people, adult or child. They all agreed to it none the less, heads bowed, fists clenched, and teeth bared as they muttered a, "yes sir", to their commanding officer. Off they went to murder senselessly, taking out whoever they found in any means possible. Riza, Maes, Marco, Alex, Roy... Each one said yes without hesitation, minds set on the protection of the state, not of what they would have to do to achieve what their Fuhrer had set out to do.  
>They tried to be merciful, tried to make it as easy on these people as possible. But when humans are faced with death and believe there is another way out, they struggle, scream, bite back. Not one of them went without a fight, without a last say in how their lives would end, and it made their jobs harder... More painful. His head throbbed with the images of screaming people and buildings ablaze. Doubt, depression, anger, guilt.. All he could feel was pain and loss for the dead families who might be alive now if not for him. His ears rung with the cries of the latest victims and the whistling of gunshots in the distance...<br>He tensed his shoulders, willing them to stop shaking, and trying to stop himself from backing down, trying to stop the rising feeling to run from the war, just like Marco had. But he knew he couldn't disappear... He had ambitions burning with such hopeful passion they would drive him to the border of insanity, make him do something so inhuman as cooking innocent people alive. And these ambitions would keep him going through this war, they would keep him from breaking down, handing in the towel and walking off when killing became this hard. They would keep him going even when there was no hope left, when he was the only one left standing to carry the burdens, when his friends turned their backs away... He would be left striding for his goal, a wall of fire and a past burnt to ashes following him along the way, becoming his only ally and worst enemy.


End file.
